


Shatter Me With Dawn

by the_moonmoth



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-17
Updated: 2010-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-12 16:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_moonmoth/pseuds/the_moonmoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Destroy it," he orders. "All of it." Spock does not wait to watch it burn, the orange glow of the explosion following him into the turbolift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shatter Me With Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the TOS episodes "Where No Man Has Gone Before" and "The Enemy Within".
> 
> Huge thanks to stillane and zarathuse for sterling beta work. Any mistakes remaining are my own. Concrit is welcome.

**1**

*

Spock stands at the center of the bridge, the empty Captain's chair and Sulu and Chekov's stations forming a triangle around him, hands resting calmly behind his back. He takes a moment to absorb the sight on the view screen: the swirling, noxious atmosphere; the installation, where Jim had been-

It is the last time anyone will see it.

"Destroy it," he orders. "All of it."

Spock does not wait to watch it burn, the orange glow of the explosion following him into the turbolift.

*

"So, this one looks like fun," Jim said, holding up a data PADD with their next mission outlined on it and rubbing his jaw with his free hand to badly disguise a yawn.

"Sarcasm," Spock noted.

"Sarcasm," Jim agreed, letting the PADD drop back down onto his desk. "Scan and document an uninhabited, environmentally hostile planet. At least the boys and girls in geophys and envirochem will be happy."

"Not every mission will be of the high-octane variety on which you seem to thrive," Spock pointed out, scrolling through the next month's duty rosters. "After our recent slew of disastrous missions, I would have thought the break in what is fast becoming routine would be welcomed."

Jim nodded. "We're definitely due a milk run."

"And yet I detect a note of dissatisfaction in your tone," Spock observed, looking up in curiosity. They were sitting in Jim's office, doing what the captain insisted on calling 'paperwork,' though no cellulose derivatives were in evidence.

"Spock, I know what I'm doing when people start shooting at us," Jim replied, as though that should be obvious. Spock raised an eyebrow. "Don't look at me like that," Jim muttered.

"Captain, are you implying that you are unsure of your role in primarily scientific missions such as this one?"

The captain sat back in his chair, not meeting Spock's eye. "Yeah, I guess," he said, though his tone was non-committal.

Spock considered this in silence, watching as Jim shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. After seven seconds, he said, "Perhaps we can schedule weapons testing for our time in orbit."

Jim's eyes snapped up to his and he let out a breath of surprised laughter. "Was that a _joke_ , Commander?"

"Vulcans do not joke, Captain," Spock reminded him, returning to his PADD. He found he was not dissatisfied by the captain's response.

*

Doctor McCoy is in surgery with Captain Kirk when Spock enters sickbay. He walks up to the large transparent viewing windows and simply watches as McCoy and Nurse Chapel perform delicate pinhole procedures, repairing the internal damage. It is not a gory process: there had been more blood down on the-

Spock blinks a few times and re-focuses on the scene before him. After a further six minutes and thirty-two seconds, McCoy looks up and, noticing him there, nods curtly. Spock gazes at him for a moment before he nods back. He continues to watch.

*

"Captain," Spock said without glancing up from his station, "I'm detecting some unusual readings in the high-frequency UV band. Some kind of magnetic disturbance."

Kirk, who had turned in his chair to listen, got up and walked over to Spock's station. Leaning over him, Kirk glanced at the screen for himself before asking, "Anything serious?"

"Unknown," Spock said, starting to run an analysis on the fluctuating field-line distribution. "I have not observed a phenomenon like this before." He glanced up at the captain. "It appears to be emanating from the planet."

Kirk switched his attention once again to Spock's screen. "It looks pretty low-energy for now, but keep an eye on it, Mr. Spock," he said, frowning.

They were in orbit, the planet's swirling grey-yellow atmosphere filling the viewscreen. Spock watched in fascination as the field-lines once again seemed to redistribute themselves.

"Captain," Lieutenant Uhura said then, and Spock just had time to note that Kirk straightened unconsciously at her tone of voice before she said, "Picking up a signal. It's-" and the ship shuddered so violently the captain was thrown to the deck.

*

Lieutenant Sulu enters sickbay exactly four minutes after his shift ends, accompanied by Mr. Scott. Spock finds himself flanked by them, watching, though he realizes that, atypically, after they are gone he cannot remember what was said, if anything.

Seventy-four minutes and ten seconds later, Nyota brushes his arm with light fingertips, too fleeting to initiate a telepathic connection but enough to get his attention.

"Admiral Komack commed again."

"Admiral Komack can wait."

There is a pause. "Spock," she says gently, "you should get some rest. Dr. McCoy already said he'd comm you when he's done."

Spock glances down at her briefly. "As a Vulcan I require considerably less rest than the Human norm."

She is frowning, but despite their past intimacy, he finds her facial expression difficult to parse. After a moment's silence she simply says, "All right." Her mouth moves in an approximation of a smile, but he is certain it is not because she is experiencing happiness. "He'll be okay," she says.

Spock nods and turns back to the viewing window. For a fraction of a second, he considers asking her to stay, but in the end he barely registers the sound of the doors hissing as she leaves.

*

Spock steadied himself against his console before reaching down to wrap a hand around Kirk's bicep, pulling him up.

"Are you unharmed, Captain?" he asked, the brief contact bringing him the awareness of the rapid beat of Jim's heart, the edges of his concern.

"Yeah, thanks. What the hell was that? Uhura?"

Lieutenant Uhura shook her head, concentrating hard on her read-outs. "I thought it was..." she trailed off and then suddenly swung around in her seat. "Chekov, head count," she ordered, then turning back to Kirk, "It sounded like a transporter signal, Captain."

" _What_?" Kirk snapped, just as Chekov called, "One thousand and ninety-six crew members on board, four unaccounted for, Lieutenant."

"Damn it. Spock, can you pinpoint the source?"

"That may not be necessary," Spock observed, looking past the captain. In the centre of the bridge, hanging in mid-air, was the spectral image of a young man whose coloring and facial structure seemed familiar, though Spock had never met him.

Standing beside him, Jim breathed, "Dad."

The hologram's whole body rotated to fix its attention on the captain, the whites of its eyes appearing to glow unnaturally.

"James Tiberius Kirk," it said, and Spock reflexively brought his hands up to cover his ears, strange overtones in its voice making it border on painful. Beside him, Uhura flinched visibly, wincing. Jim had not moved and was staring at the hologram with a curious blankness Spock had rarely observed on Human faces. "We have four of your crew and control of your ship. You will beam down to our installation in ten Earth minutes or their lives are forfeit. Coordinates will be transmitted."

The hologram blinked out of existence as seamlessly as it had appeared, and Spock restrained himself from the illogical impulse to take hold of Jim's arm again.

*

Twenty-one minutes and forty-five seconds after Nyota has gone, Jim's heart stops.

Spock clenches his hands into fists until he loses sensation in them.

*

 **2**

*

During the first few weeks out of spacedock with Captain Kirk in command, Spock noticed a not inconsiderable amount of surprise from certain of the crew that he and the captain were able to work together with relative ease.

"Without causing bodily harm to one another; they all know what happened on the bridge that time," Mr. Scott offered.

"Thank you, Mr. Scott, for your perceptive and yet unsolicited insight."

"Aye, Commander, any time."

Spock had not anticipated this reaction from the crew, which was... irregular. He knew very well from both command theory and his own observations that the captain and first officer must be a smoothly operating, largely concurrent team to achieve peak efficiency in ship's operations. That this was not widely expected of the Enterprise's command team caused Spock pause. It was an oddly jarring experience for him to recall that for the majority of their acquaintance, he and Captain Kirk had been at odds.

As to why it should be that he'd failed to remember this, he dedicated a great deal of thought. He did not deduce any satisfactory answers.

"Good morning, Commander," Jim greeted him as the turbolift doors opened. "Going to breakfast?"

"Affirmative, Captain."

"Good. I've been meaning to ask you about that thing with the long-range sensors."

The lift stopped and they walked together to the officers' mess, the conversation continuing until they were both due on the bridge.

*

After their first mission led to the deaths of two crewmembers out near the galactic rim, Spock taught Jim to play tri-D chess.

The captain seemed to possess a somewhat erratic aptitude for the game, beating Spock in their second match, and then not again until their nineteenth. Attempting to predict and head-off Jim's often illogical tactics became something of a hobby for Spock, the pursuit of which sometimes took them late into the night.

"You do not seem to require as much sleep as other Humans," Spock observed one evening. The chronometer showed 0113, and the captain was taking alpha shift that week.

"It's an old habit," Jim replied off-handedly, ostensibly concentrating on the game, though imperceptible changes in his facial muscles caused his expression to reflect something else entirely, as though a shadow had fallen across him. Spock had heard the Human idiom before, but it had never made sense to him before that moment.

"Fascinating," he said.

Jim glanced up sharply, the irises of his eyes appearing very blue in the light of Spock's quarters, and then he smiled. It was an unusual expression – not one that conveyed joy, delight, merriment, satisfaction, nor many of the other positive emotions Spock had previously catalogued of the captain. This smile was small, seemingly turned inward, and private.

"Is that so," Jim said, and moved his bishop in a manner that made Spock deeply suspicious.

*

Their second mission saw their response to a distress call disintegrate into a firefight. The hull on deck six was breeched again resulting in the loss of two medical personnel, three engineers and a yeoman. Doctor McCoy was missing for twenty-nine minutes as Jim, white-faced, sat in the command chair on the bridge and listened to the search teams on vox. He had not yet been found (concussed but otherwise unharmed) when Admiral Komack contacted the ship demanding an explanation for the failed mission. When the captain told Lieutenant Uhura to patch it through right there on the bridge, Spock discovered he had come to stand beside Kirk without conscious thought. And after, when Kirk left the bridge for sickbay, Spock, uninvited, followed him.

"If you were any other officer, I would say that speaking in such a manner to your superiors is highly inadvisable," Spock said mildly.

Jim snorted. "And what would you say to this officer, Commander?"

"I would not waste my breath on such a fruitless endeavor."

Jim stopped, grabbing Spock by the shoulders and turning him to face him, the sense of anger evident in the lines of his body now flooding into Spock at the contact.

"Deck six, Spock," he grit out, "where the medical and engineering supplies are kept, spare tools, drugs, not to mention the overflow triage bay – nothing important there in an emergency! It's not like it's worth protecting properly! I _told_ them, after Nero's attack, there was a weakness in the shielding in that section, and they patted me on the head and sent me on my way and did _nothing_ , Spock. Six deaths are on their hands today."

"Yes," Spock agreed. "Their hands, not yours."

He watched in interest as Jim attempted to reign in his excess emotion, releasing Spock and starting to pace agitatedly along the short length of corridor they currently occupied.

"I didn't – I should have – have done something, I don't know, _different_."

"It is illogical to apportion the responsibility solely to yourself. Your command decisions were sound."

"Tell that to Komack."

"I would not engage in such needless repetition, given that you have already done so, repeatedly, and at volume." At Jim's incredulous expression, he felt compelled to clarify, "I will, of course, include my analysis in my report to Starfleet regarding this incident."

"You know," Jim said, coming to a halt a short distance in front of Spock, "I think I liked you better when you were strangling me. It was less painful."

Spock found, to his consternation, that he did not wish to continue meeting Jim's eye. "I am sure Doctor McCoy is waiting anxiously to see you," he said instead.

"Right," Jim said, but he did not move immediately, watching Spock intently for five seconds before visibly shaking himself and continuing to sickbay.

*

Their third mission was a simple geological survey of a volcanically unstable M-class planet, similar to Earth in its early development. Spock had scheduled himself to lead the away team, but it seemed the captain was unable to relinquish the opportunity to visit a strange new world.

Or, as he put it, "Real-life volcanoes, Spock! This'll be great."

The beaming site had been chosen carefully for the prevailing winds, so that the cumbersome environmental suits would not be necessary. Spock and his team spent the next hour setting up and calibrating their equipment, the captain keeping out of their way, using some kind of recording device to take static images of the surroundings. It was heading towards ship's lunch time when Spock became aware that he hadn't seen Captain Kirk in approximately fourteen minutes.

Flipping out his communicator, he said, "Spock to Kirk."

"Kirk here."

"Where are you, Captain?"

"Oh, um," a pause, "about half a klick from the survey site. Why? Something happen?"

Moving out of earshot of the junior officers, Spock frowned at the captain's apparent unconcern. "Captain, Starfleet standard procedure states that any member of an away team wishing to leave the established perimeter should first notify their superior officer-"

"I _am_ the superior officer."

"-or the next ranking officer if they are in command."

"Don't wander off without telling anyone, I get it, Spock. Next time I'll definitely tell you, but right now you _have_ to come see this."

*

Jim stood at the top of a granite outcropping, looking down into the valley below. As he approached, Spock could feel the heat reaching uncomfortable levels, even for him, and when he looked up, Jim's eyes reflected the vista in miniature, orange pinpoints dancing against the dark of his pupils like sparks.

"Isn't this incredible?" Jim breathed.

"It is indeed an aesthetically unique landscape."

Jim grinned, "Knew you'd like it." Beneath them, rivers of lava flowed down the craggy sides of the volcanoes, intersecting in the valley floor to form a vast lava sea, distorted with heat, bubbling thickly, a black crust of cooling rock around the edges.

A distant rumble thrummed up through the mountainside, causing the ground to tremble. On the other side of the valley, a rock fall started. Jim edged to the tip of the outcropping to watch a dislodged boulder fall into the scorching lake.

"Captain," Spock warned, "the planet is tectonically unstable, and this outcropping is an unsupported overhang. Perhaps it would be wise to-"

He moved reflexively as the crack appeared, reaching out and dragging Kirk forcibly to safer ground. Less than a second later the entire outcropping disappeared, a distant booming signifying its descent.

Neither man paid it much attention. Jim drew his hand back from Spock as though it had been burned, staring with wide, surprised eyes. "What the hell was that?"

Spock blinked once, twice, attempting to clear his mind of the swirling impressions, senses, emotions that weren't his own. He clenched the hand he had touched Jim's hand with into a tight ball, then slowly let the muscles relax again.

"That," he said, "was my saving you from your own recklessness, Captain. Not the last time, I'm sure. Now, if you please, I believe it's long past time we returned to the others."

*

Jim moved his pawn in a classic king's gambit opening and sat back, watching Spock with an intent expression that Spock was beginning to become familiar with.

"We both know I wasn't talking about your heroics down on the planet. Something happened when you touched me."

Spock felt his jaw tightening involuntarily. There didn't appear to be a way around a frank explanation without an outright lie – Jim was nothing if not tenacious. But he did not savor the prospect of such an uncomfortable conversation. "Vulcans are touch telepaths," he said.

"Huh," Jim said. "Well, I guess that would explain how he was able to..."

"He?" Spock asked, unaccustomedly confused.

"You – older you – on that moon you marooned me on. He touched my face and then all this information kind of... flooded in."

"A mind meld?" Spock asked, though the question was redundant. "That is... unorthodox."

"He said there wasn't time to do it the normal way. But that wasn't what I felt down on the planet today."

Spock studied the board. "Are you aware that this is one of the most valueless openings for white in tri-D chess?"

"Spock, don't prevaricate."

"As you wish." Spock promptly captured Jim's pawn, setting it neatly by the edge of the board. Jim snorted inelegantly, some sort of unwilling amusement, and raised his eyebrows.

"Not what I meant."

"Very well," Spock said reluctantly. "It is not a secret, though it is not widely known outside of Vulcan – physical contact often gives rise to telepathic connection among my species. If the physical contact is with a species that is psi-null then even indirect contact, through clothing for example, can lead to transference."

"You mean to tell me that every time I've – I've – _brushed by you_ , you've been able to read my mind?" Jim blurted out, clearly horrified.

"No," Spock said shortly. "Such limited contact can provide only glimpses – strong emotions or impressions of thoughts. When the contact is directly on skin, however, the level of transference deepens, which is what you experienced earlier today. Vulcan hands are particularly sensitive."

"Wow," Jim said. Spock waited, but nothing more seemed forthcoming.

He raised an eyebrow. "I do not think I have ever seen you lost for words, Jim."

Jim waved a hand. "I'm processing." His gaze fell briefly to the board and he moved a piece, seemingly at random. "Okay," he said. "But, that must be really difficult, living on a ship full of emotional, psi-null Humans – every time someone unwittingly touches you, you'd get a shot of emotion."

"I am generally able to avoid casual contact," Spock said a little stiffly, and knew from the frozen expression on Jim's face that he was internally recounting each of the many times he had touched Spock.

"So, earlier," Jim said carefully, "what I felt came from you."

"Yes."

"And you got something from me."

"Yes."

"But with indirect contact it's just one-way traffic."

"Colorful, but correct in essentials."

"And a mind-meld is... different because..."

"My ancestors discovered that, with sufficient mental discipline, deeper telepathic connection could be attained, a complete merging of minds, so that there exists a single consciousness in two bodies."

Jim looked distant. "Yeah, it was kind of intimate."

Spock frowned. "It is usually reserved for close family members and bonded pairs."

Jim cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, expression strained. "Your move," he said, after nine seconds of heavy silence. He remained uncharacteristically quiet for the remainder of the game.

*

Jim's body arches as McCoy applies the cardial stimulator. His skin is a shade of bluish-white Spock has only seen in deceased Humans before now. He steps closer to the viewing window, the action both involuntary and illogical – he knows his proximity cannot affect Jim's prognosis.

He reaches out a hand to the transparent aluminum, and watches as McCoy and Chapel attempt again and again to restart Jim's heart.

*

 **3**

*

A transporter accident during their fourth mission left the captain split into two bodies, neither able to function independently, and Spock spared a moment to wonder if Human illogic were contagious, and if the Universe were an entity capable of catching it.

It led to an immensely trying couple of days, keeping both Kirks under control while simultaneously overseeing ship's command and working with Doctor McCoy to find a way of reintegrating the two personalities.

When it was over, Spock had not slept in fifty hours, and though he was capable of going much longer than that if necessary, he felt his exhaustion like a physical weight on his shoulders.

Rest would have to wait, however, as on returning to his quarters he found Captain Kirk waiting for him.

"Spock."

"Captain. I had not expected to see you out of sickbay so soon."

Jim smiled thinly. "Clean bill of health, never been better."

"I find that unlikely," Spock said, depositing a small stack of PADDs on his desk. "It has been my observation that traumatic episodes such as this result in a moderate level of psychological stress in eighty-two percent of cases."

"This kind of thing happen often under Admiral Pike, then?" Jim asked weakly.

Spock simply stared at him. "Did you require something, Captain?"

"Yeah, Spock, I wanted to apologize about what happened with my – one of my other selves. I – he – shouldn't have done that, it was completely unprofessional-"

"Not to mention morally reprehensible."

Jim smiled wanly. "You're not going to help me with this, are you?"

Spock sighed. "Jim, I was never in any danger of being overpowered by your baser personality, and while his sexual advances were unexpected, I am not offended by the sentiment."

"Right," Jim said, a note of surprise coloring his voice. "Great! Glad that's sorted out." He moved as if to leave, then turned back as though unable to help himself. "You're really okay with this?"

"You forget, you are not the only one to have had the experience of two disparate halves at odds with one another. My Human half may be submerged, but it is constantly at war with my Vulcan half. I survive it because my intelligence wins out over both, makes them live together." He paused, considering. "I will admit it was enlightening to see that your inner nature is not so dissimilar."

"Something in common?" Jim asked, the corners of his mouth turning upwards slightly.

"Perhaps. Though you would not do badly to take steps, as I do, to have more control over your irrational side."

To his surprise, Jim seemed to be considering this. "You know," he said after five seconds' thought, "four years ago my favorite pastime was getting into bar fights and hacking the local security nets to piss off the cops. So I don't think I'm doing too badly, all things considered."

Spock inclined his head. "If that is the case then you are indeed to be commended."

"You just want me to leave, don't you?"

"I would be grateful."

"All right, Spock, sleep well."

*

Admiral Pike contacted them the following day with orders for their fifth mission: a diplomatic event on Andoria, their presence requested specifically by the ruling body as a show of Federation strength.

"Minor incursions by raiders into Andorian space have been increasing since Nero wiped out a quarter of the fleet," Pike explained. "They don't want those minor incursions to become major."

"Understood, sir," Kirk said. "If I may ask, where is Admiral Komack?"

"He's got the Rigellian flu. I don't expect you'll be hearing from him for at least a week."

"That's a shame," Kirk said, with what Spock perceived to be surprising sincerity, given their past disputes. "Be sure to wish him my best next time you see him."

To Spock's surprise, the admiral smirked and shook his head. "I see you haven't changed, Jim."

"Only in wisdom, sir."

"Right. Look after your ship, Captain – I don't want any regrets. Pike out."

*

After an attempted assassination, loss of communication with the ship, a false accusation and subsequent escape from incarceration, Spock was wondering why he had ever expected it to be any other way.

They had trudged through Andoria's unremitting snow and ice in their dress uniforms and stolen coats until Spock was so cold he lost track of time.

When he came back to himself the first thing he noticed was that moving hurt. The second thing was the incongruous feeling of awkwardness. It took him several seconds to understand that the feeling was not his own.

"You're awake," Jim said, and Spock was infused with the warm feeling of his relief. He looked around and saw that they were in a cave of some sort, the howling of the wind outside audible although the entrance was out of sight. Beside him a selection of rocks was arranged, glowing with heat – from a phaser, he presumed. As for the captain, he was lying pressed to Spock's side inside a crude cocoon fashioned from their coats. They were both shirtless.

"Sorry about this," Jim said, noticing Spock's expression or feeling his confusion through their touch-connection, Spock didn't know. "You lost consciousness about half an hour ago, out in the snow. I was worried you were hypothermic."

"You have... administered the... correct treatment," Spock forced out between convulsively chattering teeth, before burrowing his face back into the warmth created by Jim's body. Distantly, he felt arms coming around him, pulling him closer.

The next time he awoke he felt unaccountably bereft before realizing he was wrapped up by himself – Jim now fully dressed was sitting nearby fiddling with the communicator that had been damaged during their escape.

He jumped up immediately when Spock attempted to sit up, placing a supporting hand on his back that Spock tried not to react to. "How do you feel?"

"Warmer," Spock allowed. In fact, it was surprisingly comfortable in the cave now – as Jim tossed him his uniform shirt, Spock noticed that Jim's own shirt was unfastened at the collar, his cheeks flushed pink. Nearby, there was the regular sound of dripping water. "How long have we been here?"

"I make it about six hours," Jim said. "On the plus side, I don't think anyone was stupid enough to follow us. On the minus, I've been working on this communicator almost the whole time and I'm still no closer to fixing it."

"May I see?" Spock asked, reaching out for it. They sat in silence for the next twenty-two minutes, Spock concentrating on his work, using the phaser's circuitry to route past the communicator's damaged motherboard.

"I hope that works," Jim said, "because otherwise we have no way to get out of here _and_ no way to re-heat those rocks."

"The phaser is easy enough to reassemble if the need arises," Spock said distractedly.

"Oh," Jim said. "Okay." And then, "I really am sorry, about the skin contact. I know it must have made you uncomfortable."

"On the contrary," Spock replied, "I did not mind in the least. It was the logical course of action."

*

They were rescued, the situation unraveled, all charges dropped, and Doctor McCoy decided that he did not require Spock to stay overnight in sickbay.

Spock celebrated by taking his tri-D chess set to Jim's quarters. The captain came to the door in his pajama pants, in the process of pulling on a t-shirt, the skin of his stomach momentarily exposed. Spock was hit by a vivid sense memory of the warmth of Jim's skin, the texture. He blinked, unsure what to make of it.

"Spock? You wanted something?"

"Yes, I... had thought to interest you in a game of chess, Captain, but it appears that I have inadvertently interrupted your sleep. My apologies."

"Hey, no, I was just reading. Come in. Thought you'd have had enough of me for one day," Jim grinned as they set up the board.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Why would you think that?"

"No reason," he said, his smile widening slightly. He appeared to Spock to be genuinely happy.

*

Their sixth mission was a trade negotiation with a recently warp-capable species called the Galt-Urai.

"Double-barreled aliens?" Mr. Scott enquired at the briefing. "We're going up in the galaxy, Commander."

"The hyphen signifies the crude translation of a syntactical feature not present in Federation Standard, Mr. Scott," Spock informed him. "However, your allusion to a hierarchical social structure is surprisingly accurate."

In fact, the Galt-Urai culture was one of the most intricate Spock had ever come across. Inflexibly matriarchal, command of the away mission had been passed to Lieutenant Uhura, despite the necessary presence of both the captain and first officer. All negotiations were to pass through her, as for a male to directly address the Empress meant summary corporal punishment.

Great import was placed on marriage and birth, the Galt-Urai society functioning through a maze of social tiers, prescribing not least where one could travel, the type of building one could live in, the clothes one could wear and even the vocabulary to be used. Accompanying this was a more traditional class system prescribing suitable jobs and marriage prospects. Rules were abundant and strictly adhered to, sometimes resulting in bizarre and unexpected situations.

"Hang on," Jim said, later. "If I'm following the logic correctly here, the Empress's body servant is of a higher tier than anyone else at court."

"But a lower class," Uhura added.

"So you'd use the High Geralt address for her?"

"Only when the Empress isn't present."

Jim scrunched his face up in a look of pain. "You know," he said to Uhura, "I'm really glad you're doing all the talking."

Spock shared the sentiment. Rich seams of dilithium ore had recently been discovered in the mountains of the planet's magnetic poles, something the Federation was in desperate need of during the rapid rebuilding of a quarter of the fleet. Starfleet command had impressed on them the absolute necessity of the success of these negotiations, and while Jim had many talents in command, his verbal finesse was not yet one of them. As first officer, Spock feared for his physical safety.

"Let me get this straight," Jim said, after Spock had brought this up with him that evening over their chess match, "you're worried I'm going to mess up and speak out of turn or something and end up put to the lash? I actually don't know whether to be touched or insulted."

The tone of his voice indicated, to the contrary, that the captain was leaning very much towards the latter. Spock frowned. "You have not yet, in fact, demonstrated a proficiency for sensing the correct moment to cease speaking in certain diplomatic situations, therefore my concerns are valid. Your interactions with Admiral Komack, for example."

"Oh come on," Jim said. "You think I won't be able to keep my mouth shut because of a couple of disagreements with _Komack_?"

"I did not wish to convey a lack of belief in your ability," Spock said, "simply that I am concerned, based on prior evidence, that you will put yourself needlessly at risk."

"I see," he said. "Well thank you for sharing your concerns, Commander. I'll be sure to bear them in mind."

The use of his title was not lost on Spock. The remainder of the game was a rigid, terse affair, the captain taking Spock to checkmate in a handful of carefully crafted, staccato moves the origin of which Spock was unsure.

*

The morning of the mission Spock received an early visitor. It was not unusual for Jim to come by before their shifts to walk with him to the morning meal, and despite the slight strain Spock had detected in their interactions over the last two days, he did not expect it to be anyone else; Nyota's presence at his door was unanticipated.

"I hoped you wouldn't mind," she said, "but I figured – there aren't any other Vulcans on board to do this, so..." She held out a small wooden box.

Inside, Spock found a thin, stick-like object about the length of a stylus and a slightly longer piece of flat, polished wood, raised at one end with a small hole for the stick to sit in at an angle of approximately fifty degrees to the vertical. The smell was so familiar that for a moment he could picture the temple room of his childhood, hear the echoing chants of his classmates.

"Vulcan incense," he said. Today was the anniversary of his mother's birth, and it was appropriate to remember her in this way. He had not... thought of that. "Thank you, Nyota."

Relations between them had been noticeably less cordial since their return to Earth after Nero's attack. He had informed her that he could not maintain his emotional control while also sustaining a romantic relationship with her, at that time. She had said she understood. Their professional relationship had not suffered, for which he was grateful, though he sometimes felt the lack of her friendship.

"You're welcome," she said.

She turned to go. "Nyota," he said. She turned back to face him, looking expectant, and when Spock could not find the words to express all that he wanted to say, she simply smiled.

"See you later, Commander."

Spock seated himself, lit the incense, and called up the distant memory of the words of the remembrance ceremony.

*

"Will you relax?" Jim whispered. Spock presumed this was directed at Doctor McCoy, though the captain had not turned to face either of them – the doctor's fidgeting had evidently become a distraction.

They stood in a line behind Lieutenant Uhura, who was currently exchanging pleasantries with the Empress in High Geralt. Spock did not see what relevance Jim's assessment of the doctor's stress levels had to the situation at hand, but McCoy thankfully remained silent, and Spock was satisfied that they would not enter into an exchange. He returned his attention to the proceedings.

The gravity on the planet was ninety point zero four percent that of ship's standard, allowing the Galt-Urai people to be on average slightly taller and more heavily built than Humans or Vulcans. The Empress stood a head taller than Uhura, dark blue skin and sharp bone structure making her a striking figure. She said something to Uhura, making the lieutenant smile. Uhura bowed, spoke in reply, and the Empress inclined her head. This continued for a further seven minutes and eight seconds, until Uhura bowed a final time and turned to face them.

"Well?" McCoy asked. Spock detected a distinct note of impatience in his voice.

Uhura let out a breath. "So far so good," she said. "She welcomes us to her planet and hopes we'll enjoy our stay. They're just waiting on – I didn't quite catch it – something called _cha_. Apparently it won't be long. Oh, and we can turn the universal translators on now."

"You're doing a great job, Uhura, keep it up," Kirk said. Standing next to him, Spock noted that the tension evident in the captain's body was not lessening.

Uhura, however, smiled, her facial muscles relaxing slightly. "She expressed an interest in you three. Given what we know about Galt-Urai culture, it seems like a very gracious gesture."

"The height of politeness," McCoy muttered.

"Bones," Jim warned. Turning back to Uhura, he said, "I'll take that as a sign that she wants the negotiations to go well."

"I agree," Uhura said. "This whole thing could have been really difficult if she'd wanted it to be."

"What precisely did she ask about us?" Spock said.

"Your names, your positions on the ship-"

"How did she take the news that there's a man in charge?" McCoy asked.

Uhura looked at him levelly. "She was surprised, but she also said she would attempt to keep an open mind when dealing with alien cultures."

Bones grunted and Kirk shot him another irritated glance. "What else did she ask?" Spock persisted. He was unsure as to why, but something about the Empress's interest in them troubled him. But before Uhura could continue, the Empress spoke again.

"Our transport has arrived," she said, the UT translating her words – a little haltingly – to Standard.

She was gesturing to a number of approaching vehicles. They looked odd, like barouche carriages from Earth's nineteenth century but without wheels or horses, instead utilizing some form of anti-gravity technology.

"Uhura, we would be honored if you would ride with us."

"The honor is mine, Your Highness," Uhura said. "But if I may enquire as to the travel arrangements for my companions?"

The Empress cast her eye over them briefly. "You may invite Kirk or McCoy to accompany you, if you wish," she said, her tone dismissive, "but your half-breed must travel with the servants."

There was a moment when nobody spoke, and Spock heard his pulse pounding loudly in his ears. Then,

" _Excuse_ me?" Uhura said.

The Empress looked at her in confusion. "As you have said yourself, he is the son of a teacher and a diplomat, two tiers so different as to make him _icthaya_ – outcast. We understand that your culture is different, but for us to be publicly seen with such a one, the son of a mother who is _woyuna_ – traitor to her tier, whore – it is impossible."

Spock was unsure as to the exact sequence of events that followed. He was distantly aware of a heated exchange between Lieutenant Uhura and the Empress, the volume of McCoy's voice rising, a ripple of murmurs running through the Empress's attendants, Kirk speaking rapidly to both Uhura and McCoy, his tone urgent.

But just before any of this, just as Spock had clamped down viciously on his boiling anger, fighting to keep himself under control, Jim had pressed his hand into Spock's, palm to palm, and focused very clearly on a single image.

And so overlaid onto everything that followed was this: standing in the middle of a field of unripe maize, the green stalks waist-high and rippling gently in the light breeze, the whispering sound it made, the clear blue sky and the mid-summer sun beating down on his shoulders, the shrill call of a swallow-tailed kite, the deep sense of peace.

*

"So this is where you hide," Jim said, entering the aft observation deck.

Spock was not, in fact, hiding – the door remained unlocked and his presence here fully detectable by the ship's computer. While it was true that he favored the aft observation deck because its views over the nacelles seemed less popular with the majority of the crew, this was because he sought solitude, which was not the same thing. When he said as much, Jim simply smiled, though Spock noted the expression did not reach his eyes.

"The Empress has agreed to forgo Bones's whipping," he said. "I have a feeling we're going to pay for it at the negotiating table, but I'm sure Uhura can handle it."

"The lieutenant showed admirable rapidity of thought on the surface today," Spock said. Jim came to stand beside him, staring out over the rear of the ship and the planet below, his posture radiating unease.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that, earlier," Jim said, after seven seconds of silence. "I know how you feel – how you felt, about your mother."

"Better than anyone," Spock agreed quietly, remembering the feel of Jim's neck beneath his fingers, the release, the satisfaction in overpowering another with the sheer force of his rage. "And yet, I should not feel at all. I should be able to suppress these emotions, as I have been taught to do. It is troubling that I have repeatedly failed."

"I can't imagine what that's like," Jim said, voice low, "but if there's anything I can do to help, I want you to tell me."

Spock was silent, because he didn't trust himself to speak. He wanted to end their attempts to salvage this mission, to leave the Galt-Urai and not return. He wanted to apologize for doubting Jim when the weakness had turned out to be his own. He wanted to understand the reluctance he felt to meditate, to purge himself of this unwelcome emotion. He wanted to know more about the images Jim had shown him. He wanted to leave this illogical day behind him, and never think of it again.

"Want to beat the crap out of me at chess?" Jim asked.

Spock considered it. "That would be acceptable," he said.

*

"Spock," McCoy says, "he's stable for now. Will you listen to me if I tell you to go get some sleep?"

"No," Spock says. The surgery completed, Jim has been moved to a corner of the main sickbay, his bed curtained off.

McCoy looks like he wants to say something, but in the end he retreats to his office in silence. Spock seats himself by Jim's side and watches his face, listens to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat on the monitor, slow and alien. Leaving would be unacceptable.

*

 **4**

*

"What on God's green earth is going on up here?" McCoy demanded, walking onto a silent bridge.

"Chekov, exactly who is missing?" Kirk asked, ignoring the doctor, still staring at the place the hologram had just vanished from.

Chekov tapped his terminal. "Engineers Jones, Li, Agarwal and Scott, Sir."

Kirk swore at this last under his breath. "Sulu, do we still have helm control?"

"Negative, Sir. We're maintaining geostationary orbit, but under some kind of tractor beam."

"Source, Spock?"

"Unknown. It appears there is extensive shielding covering both the source of the beam and the installation the messenger referred to."

"I don't understand," Uhura said, looking up at the captain from her station. "Why would they use an image of your father?"

"Your _father_?" McCoy said.

"I don't know," Kirk said, the careful blankness returning. "But it implies psionic ability, wouldn't you say, Mr. Spock?"

"Indeed, coupled with technology far more advanced than our own."

The ship shuddered again under the force of the alien tractor beam and Kirk reached out to steady himself against Spock's shoulder. He removed his hand quickly when he realized what he had done, but it wasn't fast enough to prevent Spock from sensing the direction of his thoughts.

"Captain, it would be extremely unwise to go down there."

"Go down there?" McCoy sputtered. "Jim, there's nothing to breathe."

"There must be something," Jim said reasonably, "or else what are their captives breathing?"

"You're assuming they're still alive," Uhura said.

"Yes, I am," he said shortly. "Okay, I want options, people."

But nothing viable presented itself. They couldn't regain control of the helm. They couldn't break the tractor beam's hold. Attempting to go to impulse caused the ship to shake so violently Spock was concerned for structural integrity. The young engineer left in charge couldn't coax a warp bubble to form. They couldn't send a distress call.

They could use the transporter, and Uhura thought she might be able to use the alien transporter signal to locate their missing crewmates, but she needed more time.

Time ran out. They delayed for two minutes and forty-eight seconds before the hologram reappeared.

"James Tiberius Kirk," it said, and Spock was ready for the dreadful screeching overtones this time, though it was no less painful. "Do you forfeit the lives of your crew?"

A muscle twitched in the captain's jaw that Spock was aware signified barely-contained rage. "No, of course not."

"No more delay. Beam down to the coordinates provided or you will listen as they die."

"Where do you get off, threatening the lives of innocent people?" McCoy demanded furiously, stepping forward. The hologram ignored him. "Hey, I'm talking to you."

"Bones," Jim said quietly.

"Can you guarantee the captain's safety while he is on your planet?" Spock attempted. He was greeted also with silence. The hologram floated in mid-air, malevolent, staring fixedly at Jim with his father's face.

"Why do you want me?" Jim asked after thirteen seconds of thick silence on the bridge. His voice was quiet, his face betraying no emotion, and yet Spock detected something he had not seen before – something deep and raw and bloody.

He glanced around the bridge, a deep sense of disquiet settling over him. Everyone was watching the captain.

"Fine, I'll come," Jim said, when there was no response from the messenger, and Spock watched as Sulu half-rose from his seat.

"You will beam down to the coordinates provided. Come alone."

*

Spock sits and watches Jim. He is clothed in a loose post-operative garment, the covers of the biobed pulled up to his waist and neatly tucked in. His skin is still pale, eyelids fragile and bruised-looking, lips cracked.

In a way, he supposes, it is amazing it has taken this long for Jim to be found in such critical condition. Yet it had come to seem, against all that logic dictated, that James T. Kirk was invincible. He remembers their seventh mission, Kirk marooned on a forested moon, unarmed, pursued by Klingons. Five other member of the away team had perished, yet Jim had survived long enough for the ship to break through the interference to beam him up. Spock remembers him laughing in defiance on the transporter pad, explaining later that he had dematerialized just as the Klingons had cornered him. Spock remembers that he was filthy, that his uniform was ripped and his face covered in scratches, and yet he also remembers that he had never seen a more welcome sight.

*

"Captain," Spock said in the turbolift, "the odds of your returning alive are-"

"Not good. I know, Spock."

"Jim, you can't be serious about this," McCoy said. "How does throwing yourself on the chopping block help anything?"

"The doctor is right," Spock added. "It is illogical to walk blindly into a situation such as this, when it is unclear if the hostages are even still alive."

"Wow, you two agreeing on something, I feel like we should mark the occasion somehow."

"With a funeral?" McCoy asked pointedly. The lift doors swished open and the three of them spilled out into the corridor leading to the transporter pad.

"I will go in your place," Spock said. "As the captain, Starfleet protocol states that in an emergency situation you should not leave the ship."

"Like hell you will," Jim muttered.

"I could sedate him," McCoy said to Spock behind the captain's back. They had reached the transporter pad and Jim stopped, turning to face them both.

"No," he said. "I won't let anyone else die on my behalf."

"You are the captain of eleven hundred crew, on a mission to explore unknown space," Spock pointed out. "Fatality is unavoidable. To pretend otherwise is fanciful in the extreme."

"For God's sake, listen to him, Jim."

"Give me five hours," Jim said, his voice hard. "If you don't hear from me after that, your orders are to leave and find reinforcements, do you understand?" For a moment, Spock considered simply not responding. "Spock, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

*

Spock watches the rise and fall of Jim's chest, the even breaths, in and out, a complex neural mechanism unconsciously controlled that he is endlessly grateful to see in action. He remembers.

Their eighth mission, racing to help the victims of a natural disaster on Auriga V, unaware at the time that the tremendous quakes ripping the cities apart were manmade and purposefully done. Spock, injured as a building collapsed, knocked unconscious, waking two days later to find Jim at his side, untalkative but unwilling to leave him.

Later, when he had asked McCoy what had happened, the doctor had given him a succinct medical analysis and nothing further. Nyota, too, would not be drawn out on the events following his injury. All he had been able to gather from the mission reports and his surprisingly reluctant crewmates had been that the machine had been discovered and destroyed, its maker killed in the process. Jim had given nothing away, but had looked at Spock with a strange fierce light in his eyes, and he had refused to leave his side.

Spock watches the rise and fall of Jim's chest, the even breaths, in and out.

*

"That's four hours thirty minutes, sir," Sulu said, and Spock's hands clenched on the arms of the captain's chair.

Since the captain had beamed down, full control had been returned to the ship. They were still unable to send subspace communications or scan the planet's surface, but they were free to go. The captain's orders were clear in his mind, and yet he knew Jim had assumed the four engineers would be returned once he had handed himself over. They had not been.

At four hours thirty-eight minutes, Lieutenant Uhura said, "Ready to try again, Commander."

Five minutes after that, Ensign Chekov said, " _Yes_! I have their location, sir. There is a faint signal emanating from the surface that has helped guide our sensors. I think it is Scotty."

Three minutes later, Spock was in the transporter room strapping a weapons belt around his waist. The door opened and Sulu entered, followed by five security officers.

"Want some help down there, Commander?"

Spock did not bother asking how they knew his intentions. "Accompanying me will be in direct violation of Captain Kirk's standing orders. What is more, it is likely to be extremely dangerous."

Sulu hefted his sword. "I can live with that."

*

There are corridors, endless and echoing with the deep hooting of an alarm. The air is thick with moisture and yet cool, clammy on exposed skin. And then there is blood, an impossible amount, pooled and gleaming under Jim's suspended body, dripping red from hundreds of tiny lacerations.

At first it seems there is no one else in the room, but then a grey vapor begins to pour from Jim's wounds, rising up and coalescing into several forms, their shapes vaguely humanoid, but insubstantial.

Jim's eyes are open and he looks at Spock but does not seem to recognize him. That, more than anything, seals the fate of this monstrous place.

"Spock."

 _Destroy it_ he says, standing on the bridge, and he doesn't need to watch it burn because he's already seeing in fire.

"Spock."

Spock blinks, rouses. "Jim," he says, and without conscious thought, reaches out and places his hand in the centre of Jim's chest, feels the cool of Jim's skin through his medical garment, allows his fingers to brush bare skin at the V of the neckline. _You are safe,_ he projects, and though he doesn't know quite how this image will translate in Jim's mental landscape, Jim simply nods, eyes sliding closed as he falls back asleep.

*

 **5**

*

"I take it you're not hiding," Jim says as the doors hiss closed behind him. Spock turns away from the view, stars streaking away to infinity over the nacelles, and faces him.

"You are correct in your assertion, Captain." Jim gives him a look that conveys a clear message of disbelief. Spock raises an eyebrow in response. Jim sighs and locks the door.

"Can we talk?" Jim asks, coming over to where Spock stands.

"We talk every day," Spock says, "often at great length."

Jim looks at him. He has been back on light duty for three days and he appears tired, yet the corners of his mouth are twitching upwards. "You're being deliberately obtuse," he says.

"I am applying a literal interpretation to your words," Spock replies.

"Uh _huh_." Jim scrubs a hand down his face, screwing his eyes shut for a moment. Spock detects an unsteadiness in him – he is still regaining his strength.

"Captain, you should sit down," he says, and leads Jim complaining over to the bench running along one of the bulkheads. He finds himself reluctant to let go of Jim's arm once they are seated, the distant brush of Jim's mind familiar and welcome. He examines this for a moment, and finds he cannot remember when it began. He finds he does not care.

"Starfleet won't be charging you with insubordination or regs violations," Jim says after thirty-two seconds of what Spock believes the Humans call 'companionable silence.' "Although I really don't see why you felt the need to include those particular details in your report."

"No, I expect you do not," Spock says. Jim huffs a laugh.

"Just be thankful we have friends in high places. And a distinct lack of officers with your training and experience."

"A remarkably rational analysis, Captain," Spock says. "I commend you."

Jim pauses before he says, "You didn't put in the part where the hologram looked like my father."

"It was irrelevant."

"You really think so?"

"You do not?"

"I keep asking myself if I would've done the same thing, gone down to the planet alone and unarmed, if the hologram had looked different, looked like anybody else, and I just can't be sure." He looks at Spock. "You don't think I did the right thing," he says.

"I do not," Spock agrees, "but that is because you are the captain, and this ship and crew requires that you privilege your safety above that of other crewmembers. I agree that the aliens' intention was to emotionally manipulate you; I do not think you succumbed."

"Thanks," Jim says quietly. Spock has read his report, knows that the aliens entered both his body and his mind, ripping through him with abandon in an attempt to fathom his race and the Federation. As though Jim, uncommon and exceptional, could stand in for all of humanity. As though Jim could be quantified at all.

Jim shifts his weight slightly, pressing his shoulder against Spock's. A wave of warmth passes through him that Spock finds difficult to interpret.

"I knew you were there," Jim says, "in sickbay. I wasn't really aware of anything else, but I could sense you somehow."

"You would have done the same if our positions were reversed. Indeed, you already have."

"Well, I appreciate it all the same." Spock can see in his peripheral vision that Jim is studying his profile. Through their touch he senses that Jim is looking for something, though he is unsure as to what.

"Can I ask you something, Spock?"

"I believe that you just have." Through the connection he senses Jim directing a sharp jolt of exasperation at him. "But you may ask me something else in addition."

"Well, Spock, let me be unambiguous here: I want to kiss you. Any objections?"

Spock turns to look at him, something bright and sacred spiking in his chest, unsure whether it comes from him or from Jim and not caring. "No," he says.

Jim lets out a breath that is relieved, not quite a laugh, and moves closer. And as he leans forward and presses his lips to Spock's, Spock reaches for his hand and twines their fingers together and holds on tightly, and doesn't let go.

*

As if I asked a common Alms,  
And in my wondering hand  
A Stranger pressed a Kingdom,  
And I, bewildered, stand –  
As if I asked the Orient  
Had it for me a Morn –  
And it should lift its purple Dikes,  
And shatter me with Dawn.  
 _–Emily Dickinson_


End file.
